Life Support
by UndergroundValentine
Summary: I've been sick for a long time now, but no one's ever known. But I think he did, despite that I never told him. I guess he can just see it. He's always been good at that, reading me like an open book. Even when I'm dying. -Kradam fluff-


**Life Support – Kris X Adam**

"Baby? I brought you something." I hear him speak softly, and my eyes open slowly. His eyes are soft; he's not wearing any makeup today. His hair is glossy, no gel or styling, hanging around his face and over his eyes. A plain, grey t-shirt and a simple pair of jeans. He's so ordinary today, I almost didn't recognize him. But I'll never forget his eyes; those beautiful, bright blue eyes. They've been so sad lately. I know it's because of me.

I glance down at the object in his hands. It's a movie. One I've heard him talk about before but never one I've had the pleasure of watching. The cover is colorful, eight people strategically placed together, a four lettered word printed in choppy Broadway letters. RENT. A soft breath escapes me as he sets the movie down on the side table beside my bed, before grabbing the chair and pulling it up next to me, and sitting down in it.

I'm not one for musicals. In fact, I hate them. I've never liked them in the twenty plus years I've been alive, and look at me now. Barely hanging onto anything. More than musicals, traffic, and sore throats, I hate being here. I hate being so weak and unable to do anything anymore. Even music has been torn from me. I can't play anymore, my fingers are dead to the music. It makes me want to break down and cry. But crying makes me cough, and coughing makes me vomit. It's bad, see? I'm barely here.

_**There's only us, there's only this**_

Adam takes my hand in his and looks up at me, his face set into a mask of nothingness. He hasn't been the same since I first came here for a more permanent residence. I've been here for… God, how many months now? Four? Five? More, less? I can't tell time anymore. I can't even tell what day of the week this is. But I know I've been here a long time. Sleeping, taking medicines, getting tests done, hearing results that don't make a difference because I already know I'm not getting better. My chest caves, my throat tickles, and I cough hard.

Adam squeezes my hand gently, stroking my hair as the spazzes begin to cease to nothing. Yay, I didn't vomit today. My chest is aching and my heart is beating fiercely, though; like a wild rabbit going nuts. And it feels as if that at any moment my lungs are going to collapse. But I try to not think about it; I can't afford to, really. "Oh, baby…" He whispers, stroking my hair so gently I can barely feel it. I close my eyes slowly, trying to relax. It's not his care or concern that I appreciate, it's the fact that he visits me at all. So many people came for the first few months, but after a while it seems that they just forget. Not that I'm surprised, really.

"I'm fine." I whisper to him, my voice hoarse. It's nearly gone nowadays, since I don't talk much. I don't sing anymore, either. I think that's the worst thing out of all of this. I'm losing my voice because of this; esophageal cancer. To put it simply, it's throat cancer. I ask my doctors how I could have it when I've never smoked a day in my life, and I'm still in my twenties. They tell me it was most likely passed down through genetics. They tell me they're surprised I've been healthy for so long, because now it's bad.

Fantastic.

_**Forget, regret, or life is yours to miss**_

"No, you're not. You're sick, Kris. You've been sick for seven months, and you haven't gotten better." Adam says softly, squeezing my hand again. I squeeze his back, gnawing on my bottom lip and blinking slowly. I don't want to think about how long I've been here. Instead, though it's not much better, I think of all the tests I've taken to see exactly what's wrong. I think of all the information the doctors have given me, the news, the suggestions of chemo therapy and radiation. But I've seen what that does to people, and it leaves them even worse from it.

"Listen to me, Kris. You've got to keep fighting for Katy…" Adam says, and I scoff, blinking back tears. He frowns at me.

"Adam, Katy hasn't been in here for two months. She's practically given up on me." Adam sits back in his chair, astounded and disappointed in my answer. I don't blame him. If I was him, I'd be disappointed in myself for such a remark. But he doesn't know…

"Don't say that, Kris. Katy has not given up on you. She's just trying to keep herself together, to stay strong with you—"

"Then why hasn't my wife come to see her dying husband in two months?" I want to scream, but my voice doesn't rise anything over a low hiss. It's hard to talk sometimes, but I have my days where I can get above whispers. But it's getting worse day after day. The burning, the swelling… It's killing me slowly. I can't even eat solid foods because I can't swallow properly. Tears roll down my face as Adam sighs, leaning forward in his chair and resting his head on the edge of my bed. His hand still has mine in a deathly lock, but I don't mind it really. Adam's been the only person who's been with me here, still caring.

"I don't know, Kris. I can't speak for Katy." He tells me, and I shake my head, though he doesn't see it. I don't like to think that she's given up, but I am not lying. She hasn't come in a long time. She calls on occasion, but the talks don't last very long since I can barely speak anymore. Our marriage is falling apart, and I hate it.

"Then don't try to." I cough lightly, wheezing for breath before leaning back firmly into my pillows, tears of pain streaming down my cheeks and into my hair.

_**Look, I find some of what you teach suspect**_

Adam lifts his head and looks up at me, his eyes soft and sad like heartbreaking seas before a storm. I close my eyes again, inhaling slowly. I don't want to look at him right now. I can't stand his anguished eyes. They'll only make me cry. I think of all the fun times Adam and I used to have together. Back when we were on Idol and during the Idol tour. Back when I could sing and dance (however awkwardly it might've been) and just _live_. And here I was now, hardly living at all.

I sound so pathetic.

"What are you thinking about?" Adam asks after a long moment, and I open my eyes again, but I still don't look at him. I stare blankly at the ceiling, my eyes heavy. I want to sleep right now. Sleep is the only thing I really want now. Sleep and Adam's reassuring hand on mine…

"Nothing, really. Just memories." I tell him, exhaling a short, sudden breath.

"Like what?" I look over at him and smile slightly.

"Idol, mostly. Being on the stage and just being alive." I drift, my gaze falling on our hands. Our fingers are laced together. When did they become laced? I trail my thumb in circles against the back of his thumb, and Adam too, looks down, a slight smile on his face as he thinks. His eyes are distant with memory; he's thinking about the tour too.

"Good times." He says. He's got his own tour happening in just over a month. I am supposed to do a couple of things with him and other bands, preparing for my own tour. But I canceled because of this. I had to. I can't sing with this damned disease. Stupid genetics.

"Yeah."

_**Because I'm used to relying on intellect**_

My breathing is short, quiet but raspy all the same. My heart is beating fiercely. It's never had to work this hard before. Usually that's because I don't get worked up like I just did. But I have cause— reason to be angry. I have many reasons, and I want to scream at God and ask him "Why me". But I don't, because I can't. I can't because my voice is failing me and I can't because it's not part of my faith. I can't curse God. This isn't his fault. He's doing the best he can to save me right now. At least, that's what I'm telling myself, since I don't know what to believe anymore.

Another tickle occurs, but I ignore it this time. My eyes rest on our hands, and I dive further into the memories that Adam and I shared what feels like so long ago. It's only been a year or so, but it still feels… distant. I remember singing with Adam on stage, feeding off his energy like some little thief. But he never minded it, really. He told me that he loved performing with me. And when he tells me the tales of our performances, I still feel the burn against my skin, as if he's telling me for the first time.

"Kris?" He says my name softly, and I look over at him.

"You're breathing hard again." He finishes, and I sigh. I have to, because my lungs aren't getting enough. I don't notice the difference anymore though. I've gotten so used to sucking in what used to be lungfulls and now it's just barely enough. Adam squeezes my hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. His skin is so warm against mine, his fingers gentle and comforting. My vision blurs and I'm spacing, wondering things I've wondered time and time again but never really gave any conscious thought to. What would Adam's skin feel like… not just in my hands…

I feel heat in my face again and I blink, clearing my head. It's an easy process, really. It's like opening and closing my eyes. Like I'm erasing a white board and starting fresh again. I'm not going to lie, I like Adam— but I can't seriously like him in _that_ sense. That's just… well, I'm not going to say it's a sin, because that goes against my own open personality. But… jeez…

_**But I try to open up to what I don't know**_

"Hey, Adam?" I look over at him, my eyes fluttering shut briefly before I open them again.

"Yeah, baby?" I smile, slightly embarrassed. I should be used to it by now, but I'll never get over the euphoria I feel deep inside when he calls me baby like that.

"Could you…" I pause, taking as deep a breath as I can manage. "Can you sing for me?" I ask him, and he takes a moment. He isn't expecting a question like that from me. But I haven't heard him sing in a long time, and I miss it. There's something soothing about Adam's voice that just makes me feel better. It fills me with hope.

"Sure, baby. What would you like me to sing?" I think for a long moment. I think of all the potential songs that he would know, and I smile slightly as my mental iPod stops on one we both know very, very well. I look up into his eyes, my smile widening a little.

"_Boundaries_." I tell him. He knows what I mean, and he allows himself a soft chuckle, before nodding once.

"Alright." And when he starts singing, I close my eyes and I let myself fall into the abyss of his warm voice. It sends chills up my arms and down my spine; it wraps around my soul and breathes such beautiful life and love that I sit up a little straighter, leaning my head against the backboard of the hospital bed, just listening. It's not the most ideal or comfortable, but I don't care, because all I can think about is his hand intertwined with mine and his voice blanketing me.

_**Because reason says I should have died three years ago**_

I feel myself drifting in and out of focus, and I don't want to open my eyes even when Adam's done singing. I know he's done, because his head is resting against my arm and his hands are on mine. The silence is comfortable though, knowing that he's right here, and all I have to do is twitch my hand and he'll know I'm still awake. That I'm still right here with him too.

But for how long?

Adam lifts his head from my arm and a long, exhausted breath escapes his lips. The index finger of my left hand twitches lightly against my will. Jitters. Awesome. Adam squeezes my hand in both of his as he speaks softly.

"Hey, I'm heading out. I'll be back tomorrow." He tells me. I don't make a sound. There's a pause, and he shuffles beside me, almost as if he's nervous. The fluorescent lights seem to dim and I feel something warm and soft against my forehead. My heart flutters, skipping once before catching up with itself. Oh. He's kissing me. He's only done that once before, right after the finale. The skin that he pecks is burning up now and I have to keep myself breathing as evenly as possible. He hovers above me for a long moment, almost contemplating…

"I love you, Kris. Please, hang in there— for me." He whispers, before pulling away. His hands unlace themselves and I hear his soft footsteps pad away like sullen gusts of air with nowhere to go. The door clicks and swings open, the hinges creaking softly.

"I love you… Adam." I reply, and the door clicks shut.

_**No other road, no other way, no day but today…**_


End file.
